Country Grammer (Bonus) Chris Travis

[Prelude]
Ice up in my fanta, yuh

Ice up in my fanta, yuh, ice up in my fanta, ice up in my fanta, yuh, ice up in my fanta aye, ice up in my fanta aye

Ice up in my fanta aye, bitch she from Atlanta
We speak country grammar (squad)
Bitch I go bananas (squad)
Fuck your bitch on camera, know her twitter handle (aye)
I don't know her name, (ay) light that bitches candle (aye)
Hol up, hol up, hol up, hol up
Bitch you right embarrassed
All my bitches candles
Fuck this life I gamble
Takin' shit no manners
Racks inside my satchel, (Racks, squad, squad squad)

[Verse]
All of your hoes jack ya cheque
None of my flows can be snatched
She wanna draw on my tats
I need my (?)
Boy you get split with an axe
Straight down yo' head to yo' back
Fuck these lil' niggas they wet
Fuck these lil' hoes they attached
I don't plan shit I'm ahead
These niggas be livin', but dead
Niggas gon' be shivered, be scared
I fuck her she wet on my bed
She wanna fuck cause my dreads
Killin' these (?) a stare
Bitch I don't love you around here
Niggas want what in his head?!